


Don’t Fall In Love

by savianna_p



Series: Broken Roses [1]
Category: Phan
Genre: Abuse, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - High School, Amazingphil - Freeform, Angst, Anxiety, Based On a Troye Sivan Song, BoyxBoy, Broken Families, Dan - Freeform, Depression, Drug Use, Drugs, Eventual Smut, Fanfiction, Fluff, Gay, Humor, Love, M/M, Pain, Phanfiction, Phil - Freeform, Sad, Sad Dan Howell, Sad Ending, Sexual Violence, Sorrow, TriggerWarning, Troye Sivan References, Violence, danandphil - Freeform, danisnotonfire - Freeform, lovestory
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-18
Updated: 2017-12-30
Packaged: 2019-02-16 15:47:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Underage
Chapters: 5
Words: 4,476
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13057113
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/savianna_p/pseuds/savianna_p
Summary: "I dunno. Everyone just stopped caring I guess...""And that led to you not caring?""Yeah. I guess it did...""Let me be a better influence."





	1. Phil

"I love you..." Dan's voice cut through the violence. Sad and broken and beautiful. He was painted in bruises so that he wouldn't be left. He sacrificed everything so that he could hold onto nothing...

~~~

A new town, new house, new friends.  
I’m not a nervous person. Not typically, at least. This, though. This was different.  
My heart was beating abnormally fast, and to say I was excited for the first day would be an understatement.  
God, I was such a mess. I glanced at the clock. Only twelve-eighteen. I could have tried to sleep, but I knew any efforts would be futile, anyway.  
Time slipped away pretty fast though, and soon enough I was getting ready for the new everything.  
My parents made breakfast, we ate, and they left. My brother, Mikey, finished and I followed behind him happily, locking the door to our new house.  
I walked Mikey to his school, and showed him his way to his home room. He didn’t seem scared, but of course, he was Mikey. And Mikey was never scared.  
And then I was at my own school.  
Everyone was so happy. Smiles were plastered on everyone’s face, and soft words were spoken. Laughter, fragile and sweet, was left suspended in the air. Everyone looked like they wanted to be here, and I was eased.  
Everyone, except for the pretty boy with the black cloths in the courtyard.  
He did not look happy with who he was with or where he was, and his hands moved frantically to his curled hair and back down to his lap.  
Fidget. Raise. Massage. Lower. Fidget. Repeat.  
He caught me staring, and quickly looked away, blushing furiously.  
The people he was with didn’t seem to notice he was there. I wondered why he did not move.  
I walked over to them, pretty boy’s eyes widening. Another guy, who looked oddly like a black haired Ken Doll, suspended his hand to me when I approached them.  
“You must be the new kid. I’ve heard about you. Said you were a bit of a popular guy back home. I’m Josh,” he flashed a very white toothy smile and let go of my hand, then tilted his head to his left. “That’s Ron,” his head went to his right, “and that’s Mary.”  
I nodded to each in turn, the smile on my face came easily, though I was not quite sure they deserved a smile.  
Mary caught my eyes drifting to the curly haired beauty, and she distastefully said, “and he’s nobody important.”  
His eyes were a deep but pained brown, his frown seemed ever present, and sorrow creases hid any evidence of a once happy little dimple that sat on his cheek.  
How lovely he was, I couldn’t grasp that he could be anything but important to anyone he met.  
A bell rang, indicating the start of period one, and I waved goodbye and set off.  
AP English Lit. was my first class, so I headed for room B3 and when I arrived, I took a seat in the back corner.  
And then the best thing happened...  
Mr. Exquisite walked in.  
He scanned the classroom— well, the back row at least, and when he saw me, he nearly dropped his books.  
Only one seat was available in the section of the room he was apparently adapted to, and that one spot was the one next to me.  
He moved slowly towards me, and took his seat. Everything he did looked forced, like he was a puppet with strings too tightly wound to his limbs. Everything he did was wonderful.  
Ms. Hart, a shorter, older woman walked into the room and things settled down. Her face was warm, and she radiated nice, but the kids had given their attention immediately. Something about that told me she had a mean side if you crossed her.  
“Welcome back to Advanced English Literature. We have a new student with us here today, Mr. Phil Lester. This class is all about writing and reading, so if you aren’t a fan of these arts, please let me know and I will happily move you to a different class than mine.” The underlying tone of the message was simply passive aggressive, but I did not feel intimidated. I had no need to.  
She continued. “Because this is my AP class, you have all done exceptionally well on your work this far in your school career, so I expect great things from you. The first few weeks, that Lester has unfortunately missed, have been spent on simple tasks such as team building and vocabulary growth. Today, we start our first assignment.” Several groans were heard from the front of the class, but beside me, the adorable one perked up and listened very intently.  
So he was a massive nerd. He couldn’t possibly get any better than this.  
“Partners, who you’re sitting next to will work easy enough. A writing piece about the topic ‘Love’. I believe it can be completed with minimal research and maybe a few out of class get togethers with your partner, as your age group, with their hormones and all-” Even more groans cut her off, and she smiled. I smiled too, and so did Pretty Boy.  
Before he realized it was a partner project.  
And I was his partner.  
We split off into our groups to brainstorm ideas.  
“I believe we partially met, this morning.” I said.  
“Yes.”  
“I have to ask, why were you with those people. They were so rude.”  
“They don’t mean it. Josh, well... He’s my boyfriend. He loves me. He can sometimes be a bit harsh.” He looked at me as he mentioned his boyfriend, like he expected me to ridicule him for being in a gay relationship. I did not.  
“Why did Mary call you unimportant?” He opened his mouth to reply, but Ms. Hart walked up to us and put a stop to my questions. Whether she knew what we were talking about or not was a mystery to me.  
“If I were you, Phil, I would let Dan lead this one. He’s an incredible writer.” So his name was Dan.


	2. Phil

The day went by fast. It turned out that I had many classes with Dan, and I put forth extra effort to sit next to him in each one. This, as it turns out, didn’t go unnoticed. He watched me curiously through each one and smiled to himself when I slid notes to him, and by the time the final bell went off, he was walking hurriedly to my locker.  
“So... the English project... um. I was, uh, wondering if we could... meet at, maybe, your house to work on it?” Though he and I got along fairly quickly, he still had a guard about him that made him a mysterious little box that overzealous fingers couldn’t pry open. I made it my mission to get to know this boy, even if my life depended on it.  
“Absolutely.” I smiled, grabbing his phone from his small, soft hands and putting my address and phone number in.  
“Thanks.” He mumbled before glancing over his shoulder. Josh and his goonies were rounding the corner. He rushed off without giving me a chance to say goodbye, and I looked back just in time to see Josh pushing the other two away while dragging Dan into an empty classroom. Odd.

~~~

“Philip!” My mother shouted from downstairs.  
“Yes, Mom?” I exclaimed back.  
“There’s someone here, says he’s here for a school project...” Dan. My heart began to beat faster as I launched myself down the steps.  
“Hey.” I said breathlessly, coming to a halt in front of the door. He smiled sheepishly as I ushered him to my room.  
He brought his laptop from his bag to rest on his lap, and as it loaded up our Document from class, I studied his face. His bottom lip was split, dry blood caked around the edges. His neck had a blooming hickey. His eyes flickered to me, and when he realized where I was looking, he pulled his hoody up tighter around his neck.  
“So love. Tell me what it means to you, Mr. Dan.” His face softened.  
“Well... Love is purple and blue. Colors growing like flowers around you until you feel numb. Love is being pretty under any circumstance, and love is protection.”  
I nodded my head, encouraging him to write that, before giving my opinion for the paper.  
“To me, love is respect. It’s a bubble of care and happiness and it knows no bounds. Love is platonic or passionate, not reserved for any one person or any one gender. Family, friends, and anything in between is love, the want of nothing but good to surround them until the day they part with the Earth.” Dan stared mesmerized at me, taking a minute to process my words until eventually typing it out in his poetic ways. He was much better at words than me...  
We worked feverishly on the paper until it was polished and perfect, the same day of assignment.  
“So you’ll be staying for dinner?” I asked, glancing at the clock that said six in the afternoon.  
“Yeah, if your family wouldn’t mind.”  
“Of course not. You’re welcome over here anytime, just so you know.” I smiled, and he nodded.  
We took our time walking down the stairs, the smell of a freshly cooked chicken lofting through the home. I looked over to Dan, smiling as I piled my plate high with food. His plate was less than full, causing my smile to drop.  
"Surely you're hungrier than that." I tilted my head and attempt to return my quirkiness. He shook his head, walking over to the table and setting the plate down.  
"So Dan," my mom smiled, "tell us a little bit about your family." My dad glanced up from his plate and stopped cutting for a moment.  
"You're a Howell, I presume." He inquired. Dan shook his head slowly.  
"Well, son, we moved down here because of a job I got from your dad. We were talking about you boys becoming friends earlier today, so fate must have heard us." He smiled before continuing at his meal.  
"Yes, my parents are... some of the... biggest employers of the town. My mom isn't really around much, but she does a lot of the behind the scenes work for the company." He shifted uncomfortably in his seat.  
"Well he seems like a very nice man." My dad nodded, and the smile that fluttered across Dan's mouth looked far from genuine. It was still pretty nonetheless.  
Dinner was finished in a thick silence with strands of silver talk lacing around it, never sharp enough to cut through. Dan hurried away after insisting on washing his own plate.


	3. Dan

My head was pounding as my flesh became the night, coldness snipping at my bones. I prayed to the God that I knew simply could not exist that I could avoid another beating when I got home? because my fragile life could not handle another. Footsteps landed heavy on the pavement with human energy, but they were feathery in ways brought only by my withering body. I had eaten too much in order to go under Phil's radar, but why did I have to? Why would Phil approach Josh his first morning, why would he make small talk and pass pointless letters to the boy who wanted nothing to do with anyone but those who I needed? Why did I have to care?  
The door creaked open and the room was empty, no sign of my dad being home from work, meaning I had escaped his prying questions and punishment. Maybe God was real... No, it wasn't God that kept my father at work late, it was his affairs, his job and... more. I dragged my helpless self along the hallway, to the steps and up to my room where I could let red fade to purple in peace. Feeling pretty was of the essence. My body jerked away from the door I was about to open and turned to another. The bathroom.  
I stripped myself of bloody, sweat soaked cloths and stared at the mirror. Collar bones jutting from my chest, teeth marks embalmed into them. Stomach flat if not concave, curving inward to meet a pair of sore, over used hips. Between hip and feet were mere bones with skin wrapped tightly around them, knees bruised.  
My eyes were swollen from the wind outside, dry yet not. What a walking contradiction I had become. I could remember a time when I was a happy kid with dreams as big as the growing hatred that now rested in my head. I stepped into the shower and allowed the steam to melt away at my fat, trembling before I broke. Tears blended with water. Whoever said tragedy was beautiful was a fucking liar...  
~~~  
My alarm went off, spouting noises that never indicated a joyous time. I dressed in my black sweater, with matching jeans and trainers. My hair curled up the side of my head, but I was simply too tired to straighten it. Of course I didn’t dare consume breakfast, so I was off on my way to school quickly, large hoodie doing little against the intruding winds that fortold of winter coming. My head was frozen and my nose running by the time I got to the courtyard, and I saw Phil standing alone on one side of the field and Josh on the other. My heart jumped toward Phil, but my feet trudged to where Josh was stood. He was the one I belonged to anyway. English class came and went fast, Phil and I having nothing to do due to our vigilance the night before. The period was spent doing mindless activities like drawing instead. I began a sketch of Phil. And then it was lunch, and Josh was by my side, to stay there until the end of the day. Sharing classes with him made it easier for him to protect me, he said. It made our after school sessions easier, too. A ring brought my thoughts back to present, and after school happened to be just then. I was meant to be meeting Phil, with permission from my dad already granted. Hopefully he’d be able to wait around for a bit, I thought as Josh wrapped an arm around me and guided me to the usual classroom. He snaked a long finger down my chin, smiling venomously.  
His lips crashed into my swollen and bruised ones. His hands ran up into my hair and pulled. Hard. And then, as suddenly as it had started, it stopped.  
And then those fingers were splayed across my face, leaving their shadow painted in my flesh. It stung, and I jerked back. I regretted it immediately, though, and I tried to apologize.  
“You piece of shit. Maybe I should just leave you. You can’t stand their and take what I’m trying to hand you. Honestly, what a pig.” He spit, and I cried.  
The tears were like rain, but not gentle and cold. I told him to hit me again. Give me another chance. I wanted him to stay. He was my rock, and rocks leave bruises. I accepted it.  
He snarled at me before pulling me back into another kiss, sucking the blood from my thickened mouth. His spit clung to me as he pulled away, and he did as I pleaded him to: he hit me again. I whimpered but did not dare move.  
He seemed satisfied with this, and his hands wandered down, gripped my thigh.  
“You’re so skinny. Pretty bones. Soft skin. You make yourself look like this for me. You want to make me happy with your body. You little slut.” I moan softly in response as he grabbed me harder. This was what I was here for. I do this for him, he stays with me. Protects me from others judging hands. He loves me.  
“I love you..." I mumbled just before he dropped me down to my knees, and set my mouth to a different use.


	4. Phil

I watched sad, horrified as I fully understood what Dan had meant. Earlier, he had spoken of love that could be expressed only in purples and blues.  
Now, he was red, but later it would blossom into this so called love.  
Josh spoke of pretty bones and soft skin. Truth recalls his bones being porcelain, his skin pulled like leather.  
“I love you..." Dan's voice cut through the violence. Sad and broken and beautiful. He was painted in bruises so that he wouldn't be left. He sacrificed everything so that he could hold onto nothing...  
And then his knees were on the ground, and I had to look away. I knew what was happening, and I knew that this is not love, but lust and violence.


	5. Dan

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry for the prolonged addition to the story, but the holidays had me a bit busy. However, I did land myself a new laptop, so writing should be easier than before. Enjoy, if you can...

Phil wouldn’t look at me.  
I had missed our meet up, and he was probably angry. Rather than hitting me or shouting, he opted to sit alone or go to the library during first period. His ear buds were nestled inside his head, music playing every time I saw him and wanted to speak. I heard The Night We Met one time while sitting next to him. Not the happy music expected of Phil Lester. On Tuesday, exactly one week from my big mistake, I approached Phil in the library and sat staring, begging him to look at me with my eyes. I didn’t speak, but he took his headphones out with a shuddering sigh.  
“Dan...” He spoke slowly. And then his hand was on my face, thumb tracing my purpled cheek. He avoided my eyes, rather staring at my lips. My tongue threatened to run over them, but I held myself down.  
Phil’s eyes suddenly flashed angry, and I jumped back.  
“Why didn’t you say something?” He all but yelled. His voice was straining to be quiet.  
“I didn’t think I’d be caught up, I just got... busy.” Phil shook his head.  
“I don’t care what you didn’t get to do, Dan...” He laughed humorlessly, like the answer should have been obvious.  
"Then... then why? Why have you been ignoring me this whole time if you didn't care?" I could barely sputter out the words under his cold stare.  
"Dan, I care about you. I care a lot about you... I was..." His voice cut out and he closed his eyes, taking another shaggy breath before continuing. "I was looking for you, to make sure you were okay. I saw what... he... did to you." And then it all made sense. I felt the wetness on my face before I felt it in my eyes, and all too quickly there was a trail of salty sadness dripping from my love-coloured chin.  
I don't remember what happened next, all I saw was Phil's hand coming up to wipe the tears away but it never made it to it's destination. Instead, I heard a sickening crack inside my own head and then I was out like a poorly screwed in lightbulb.  
My dusty eyelids peeled away from their sleep state and what I saw horrified me: I was laying in a white and blue bed, tan walls with a plastic railing boxing me into my worst nightmare, a hospital room. My head was pounding, but I didn't mind much attention to it. It's not like it was out of my ordinary. My eyes darted right, but nothing but an empty chair was for me to find. Slowly, I turned my attention to my left, and in a bed next to mine was something that scared me more than what I previously thought to be the worst thing. There, half smiling at me, was a completely pummeled Phil Lester.  
"What... oh my god Phil, are you okay?" I rushed a little too fast, the excitement causing the pain in my head to escalate.  
"You wake up from a forty-eight hour coma and ask if I'm okay. You are too precious for this world, Dan Howell." If my face showed confusion before, now it must have resembled that of an amnesiac patient being told his life story for the first time.  
"What happened to you... us?" I creased my eyebrows, ignoring the rip I felt come from a taped wound.  
"Um... we were taking a walk, after first period, decided to skip a few classes to clear our heads. I walked a little too close to you, causing you to fall down a ledge, banging your head on a rock. I tried to catch you but my foot slipped, and I fell too. The ledge was a bit steeper than I thought and I rolled a bit further than you, getting significantly more banged up." He chose his words carefully, making sure I knew nothing was my fault, and that it was all simply an accident.  
But something didn't sit right with me. The last thing I remembered was the library at the school, not a walk in the woods. I shook my head slowly, but he assured me that I had a concussion and my memory was lost from that short time period. It didn't feel right, but I guess when you lose a chunk of your memory you can't expect to feel normal. I eventually agree to his story, and make sure he's okay.  
A lovely nurse with hazel eyes and raven hair came in to make sure we were okay, and was delighted to see I was awake. When she asked Phil to go over the events again, she too seemed skeptical of how falling down a ledge could do so much damage to two people. And then she said something that caused dread to nip at my bones.  
"Mr. Lester, Mr. Howell. Are you absolutely positive that it was an accidental fall that caused these wounds? From my almost fourteen year experience I have to say that in my professional opinion, the two of you look like you got beat up by somebody who wasn't happy." She asked as softly as she could, but the sour words cut through her politeness like a butcher knife. And yet Phil answered again, a stubborn yes, insuring her that he had been the one to carry me and himself to the hospital from the woods, and that the alibi checked out, as we were each seen leaving first period separately, later spotted together at the library, but no such appearances from either of us the rest of the day.  
The nurse, Jenny, reluctantly nodded and mustered a smile. Though roughly beaten up and sure to be sore, the Hospital had done everything they needed to, and we were able to go with some prescriptions for pain killers and two notes excusing a Dan Howell and a Phil Lester from the next week of school.  
Friday, six in the evening. I was sitting in Phil's kitchen bar nook, rubbing an ointment into a cut on his forearm.  
"I'm concerned at how good you are at taking care of painful situations." His vibrant blue eyes searched my boring brown ones, but I refused to look up from my work. My fingers danced in a circular motion around his arms, applying enough pressure, massaging just a bit more than necessary.  
"My mom was a nurse for a while." I simply replied, not untruthfully.  
"Tell me about her. Your mom, I mean." I let out a sigh as I wrapped his arm in gauze, bringing his sleeve back down.  
"She cares about me, one of the very few I can say that for certain. She was a nurse before she met my dad, they met when she was in her early twenties. He came in as a patient one night, after one of his clients knocked a glass from his second story during a party of his, dropping it on his head. He was handsome, and nice. When she tucked me into bed at night she would describe him like a story book prince..."  
~~~  
I smiled up at her, pulling the blanket around my chin. She kissed my forehead.  
"Tell me about Daddy." I grinned, and her smile drooped. I did not understand what the change in expression meant. I was only six.  
"His eyes were practically glowing when he came in, orange and brown. You got your daddy's eyes, Danny. So sweet and gentle. Don't ever let that light go out." I didn't plan on disappointing her, but I did.  
"He flashed a smile at me, his teeth so white and perfect. I was his nurse, I got the glass out of his hair. He was such a funny man. You know the sticky blood when you lose a tooth?" I nodded my head quickly. It hurt less to move as a kid... "Well your daddy had some red sticky blood from that glass, and whenever I was finished getting him all better, he told me he really appreciated my help, but really all he wanted from me was to clean his hair for him, because that pesky blood was making his hair nasty." She smiled at me, and I laughed, teeth showing and little voice giggling away. "He said if he could have something else from me, he would settle for nothing less than a date. Now mommy was so full of joy that she did a little happy dance right there at work after he left. He treated me to a fancy dinner at a bowling alley, and he even let me win." We laughed together and she told the date like a story book. She had a talent for words. She went on about her night, and by the time she had finished, she was crying softly. I tried my best to cheer her, but there is only so much a child can do when he doesn’t understand what’s wrong. My dad had burst in, and my mom flinched at the movement. “Turn that damned light off and get your ass out here.” My mother kissed me one last time and turned out my lamp, clicking the door shut behind her. I did not sleep well that night, or very many nights after that. ~~~ Neither Phil nor I spoke when I finished my story. Until I added the last bit. “I remember two years later asking my mother to tell me the story of the day they found out she was pregnant. She only shook her head and told me I was getting to be too old for bedtime stories and she walked out...” Phil understood the pain that was coursing through my heart, because when I laid my head on his shoulder and cried my soul dry, he held my curls and wept with me.


End file.
